


A Hot Mess

by Vixen13, xenospider



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bottom Wade Wilson, Character Analysis, Come as Lube, Communication Failure, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Peanut Butter Parker, Peter B. Parker - Freeform, Sex Toys, Smut, Teacher Peter, Top Peter Parker, Trope Subversion, they'll switch eventually so if you like bottom Peter just wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/pseuds/Vixen13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenospider/pseuds/xenospider
Summary: Peter B. Parker has been through a lot in his life. Wade Wilson has, too. Peter is a science teacher, Wade does freelance work for the feds, and they share a modest apartment. Together they've found as much stability as is possible for people living separate civilian and vigilante lives.But something happens. Wade is unsettled, and Peter tries to be supportive but things unravel quickly despite their best efforts. How can they come back around and fix what's been broken?--The events of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse will occur in the middle of this fic somewhere, though  those events will not be rehashed in detail.





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into writing again so I can finish my other WIPs, so I'm gonna take this one kinda loose and relaxed and a lot less plot heavy than my other fics. (As much as I'm capable of anyway.) I'll have Vixen helping me with the sex scenes that will be upcoming because she is a sweetheart and I am lazy.
> 
> One trope that I get tired of is that when people have a severe breakdown in communication it gets fixed with a single conversation and a round of hearty sex and voila, problem solved. What I want to explore with this story is how a loving couple getting into the mundane routine of a relationship can have lots of small issues that compound on each other and turn into a big mess, and they're still having sex and trying to make it work, but while the makeup sex is nice in the very short term, it's only making it worse because they're not actually facing the real problems.
> 
> I was struggling with how I'd want to end this fic with a happy ending, and then I saw Spider-Verse and my pores were cleansed, my crops watered, and my soul ascended to heaven and I had the inspiration and the motivation I needed to actually start writing this. So I hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment. xoxo
> 
> -the author formerly known as bexorz

During the length of Peter Benjamin Parker’s life, there were many days that stood out as being more significant than others: The day he was bitten by the radioactive spider.  The day his uncle died due to Peter’s childish hubris.

The day he fell in love with Mary Jane Watson, and the day she finally agreed to marry him the third time he asked. The day of their wedding, bright and sunny and full of love, family and friends. The day they’d divorced, three months after she’d lost the baby, and they couldn’t keep it together anymore.

The day he’d buried his Aunt May.

There were better days than those that were important too. The day Deadpool pulled Spider-Man out from behind a dumpster in an alley, mask gross and moist with tears and snot, and held him in his arms and told him jokes until the hiccuping sobs turned into chuckles.

The day Deadpool helped him save an entire theater full of people at the cost of his own life, even though he’d regenerated afterwards. Peter hadn’t been sure of the extent of the man’s healing powers until then, and he hadn’t known if Deadpool _would_ come back.

The day he realized he’d been wrong about Wade Wilson for years.

The day they’d fallen together, lips locked, searching for meaning and reassurance in something new. The afternoon they’d spent in their swimsuits in cheap lawn chairs on the roof of their apartment building on Independence Day, drinking cold drinks and making out until fireworks exploded in the sky above.

The morning after they’d moved into an apartment together, worn out from the night before of shuffling boxes around and then making love on the floor in the living area.

The day Peter finished his Master’s program and got his teaching license, providing him with the first stable job he’d had in his life, and the fulfillment that came with helping kids succeed.

As a vigilante, the battles and the bruises all blurred together into one conglomeration of emotion tangled up with the idea of going out into the city wearing the mask. So the important days in his life were never about him being a hero, but about him being a man.

Peter took a sip of his coffee, leaning away from his desk where he was reviewing personal essays for one of his fellow teachers as a favor while she dealt with a family emergency. The essays the students had written were about major events in their lives, and how those events had shaped them as they were now. He wasn’t used to grading anything other than science homework, so reading these kids’ accounts was getting him distracted in nostalgia and thinking about his own situation.

He wasn’t as young as he used to be, he wasn’t as fresh as he used to be, but things felt stable. He finally felt like his personal life was in a place where he could mostly manage it, even though it was still hard to balance a civilian identity with his exploits as Spider-Man. Well, that, and dangers to the city could hardly be considered “stable”, but stability was relative.

Also stability as the average New York citizen would define it was boring, and Peter loved the thrill and excitement of being Spider-Man even with all the hard knocks he took.

There was a lot that had shaped him, and shaped him into someone who could be happy with Wade now. Ten years ago he hated Deadpool, and couldn’t possibly have imagined this.

A snort erupted from the couch. Peter turned and smiled at Wade where he lay snoring, bunched up in an awkward angle against the couch cushions. What a liar. He’d said he wasn’t tired, but there he was passing out while the TV still droned on in the background.

Glancing at the time in the corner of his laptop screen, Peter realized that it was actually hours later than he’d thought it was.

“Well, shit.” He sighed and wiped his hands down his face. Blinking, he looked between the laptop and the stack of printed essays that he still had to check. He didn’t have to finish until tomorrow, so the rest of it could wait until his prep hour in the morning. That would be fine. His own students’ homework would be much easier to breeze through, so he’d have time.

Wade wouldn’t be happy waking up on the couch, though. Poor guy had had a rough day, still struggling with his daughter’s guardian in terms of how often he was allowed to see her. He missed Ellie a lot, though Peter could understand her guardian’s reluctance to let her get too close to Wade’s life. Wade was still stressed out about that, and there he was waiting up for Peter to finish his work so they could spend time together tonight just the two of them. So much for that idea.

Peter shut his laptop and took the time to organize the essays into “done” and “not done” folders, then shoved them into his satchel for the morning. Gently as he could, he scooped Wade up off the couch and headed for the bedroom so they could tuck into bed. Four hours was enough sleep, probably.

Wade made a grumbly noise and opened his bleary eyes to look up at Peter. “What time is it,” he slurred.

“It’s late. Or early. You fell asleep.” Peter flicked off the lights and the TV as he passed into the bedroom, then he and Wade snuggled under the covers together.

“I did not,” Wade protested with a huge yawn. “I was practicing my open mouth fly catching technique.” He squirmed and groaned in complaint as he struggled to shuck his shirt and pants, with no help from Peter.

Watching him struggle while he was so sleepy was too cute sometimes.

Peter peeled out of his own clothes and kicked them onto the floor next to bed. He clicked the bedside light off and curled against his partner, rubbing gentle hands against Wade’s tender, scarred neck and back. “If you say so.” He was too tired himself for any stronger banter.

Rolling over, Wade flopped an arm over Peter’s waist and leaned in to seek his lips, rub his fingers over the stubble on Peter’s face. They kissed, both feeling a soft, lazy arousal that neither had the energy to satisfy, but was a nice sensation regardless.

“Remember I’m going to have to stay late for parent teacher conferences tomorrow,” Peter said. He’d mentioned it the week before, but Wade sometimes forgot things.

“Mm-hm.”

“Hey. Will you remember?”

“Mm.”

It was no use. Wade was already half asleep again. Oh, well. Peter would leave him a note before he left in the morning. And if anything serious came up with the criminal elements in the city, he was sure that Deadpool could handle it.

“I love you,” he whispered with a kiss to Wade’s temple.

The soft sound of Wade’s sleeping breath was his only reply.

—

Bright sunlight pierced through the slats in the blinds onto Wade’s face in the morning, bringing him out of the stupor of sleep. His arm was stretched across the bed, fingers curled against the sheets that Peter had been lying on probably hours ago, now. It was an unusual day when he didn’t wake up when Peter did. Or maybe he had woken up and had forgotten when he went back to sleep.

He was sure he would have gotten a morning kiss goodbye as his sweetheart went off to work, and only wished that he could remember it. So many things in his life he couldn’t remember and wished he did. Not remembering a kiss from his Peter was a disappointing start to the day.

Because he was _sure_ that he got one. Peter was a good man and a good boyfriend, he wouldn’t leave without kissing Wade goodbye.

Flopping his way out of bed, he blinked hard against the bright light and staggered his way over to the bathroom to take his morning piss. He steadied himself against the tiled wall while he held his piece in his other hand and stared at his girly calendar hung up behind the toilet.

It was a concession by Peter, albeit a grudging one, since Peter always sat down to do his business and wouldn’t have to look at it. (Something about the bladder emptying more efficiently or some bullshit like that.)

“Hey, Miss September, still looking damn fine this morning,” Wade made kissy face at the photo and shook himself off. “Catch ya later, babe.”

After he made his way through the rest of his ablutions, he padded into the kitchen and found a note from Peter on the fridge.

_Parent teacher conferences tonight. Will be really late. Pancake batter in fridge. I’ll call you during my break. Xoxo_

“Oh, sure, thanks for telling me about this _before_ the last minute,” Wade grumbled. Peter was always flaking out on him. Wade had been hoping to go menace the antique shops uptown together that afternoon. “Nobody ever tells me nothin’.”

When he opened the fridge, though, the plastic pitcher full of mostly fresh pancake batter greeted him with a post-it note with hearts on it. It said “needs lemon juice”. Lemon juice to activate the baking powder that was undoubtedly in the mix, to make fluffy pancakes.

Irritation forgotten immediately, Wade took the pitcher and started humming to himself as he went about finishing the breakfast that Peter had started for him. He’d have to make it up to him later, since he was sure that Peter had rushed out the door with probably one slice of toast in his gut and another clenched in his teeth.

Sitting down with his pancakes and coffee, from the big thermos next to the coffee pot with the remains of what Peter had made earlier, he texted Peter a quick thank you.

Half an hour later, Peter texted him back a single heart emoji.

“My man is a busy guy.” Wade sighed. He knew that he couldn’t expect Peter to give him constant attention, but he still couldn’t help the part of him that _wanted_ it. Peter was at work, he was doing his job, and he was doing a _good_ job. Wade couldn’t monopolize his time.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, about to head out the window and patrol the rooftops with his police scanner. He had been freelance for the government for years, instead of freelance for the highest bidder of whatever moral leanings, but he didn’t have any official work to be done right then. Might as well help Spider-Man take care of the city.

—

Ketchup and mustard dribbled down Deadpool’s chin, and he moaned in happiness around the juicy hot dog he was stuffing his face with. His teeth cut into the skin and it squirted more juice over his mouth.

“Gofff damn thus iss a goof huff fog,” he said to the trio of pigeons sitting near him on the roof. They were intent on him, keeping their distance and waiting to see if he would be throwing them any food. Spinning in circles with their tails fanned and bobbing their heads.

“Hey, you ain’t gettin’ none of this,” he said after he swallowed. “Buzz off.” He waved a hand at them, and they shuffled off, but then shuffled right back just out of his reach. “Sassy fuckers.”

Wade finished his food, wiped his hands on the wad of napkins he’d grabbed from the street vendor, and was about to contemplate going for another dog when he heard some alarmed announcements on the police scanner tucked into his belt. The voices crackled through the speaker and he caught the codes for suspected bomb threat and the location of a subway station near the library.

That was a highly populated area this time of day. This was _not_ good. Luckily Wade was close, so he tossed his garbage on the roof for the pigeons to play with—hearing Peter’s disapproving voice in his head as he did so and not caring right then—and he made quick tracks in the direction of the incident to lend his assistance.

Bomb threats were taken very seriously in New York City. There were dozens of squad cars lining the streets around the library, blockades being put in place, and people were vacating the area quickly. Except for the gawkers who would rubberneck during any manner of emergencies; you couldn’t avoid that type. The ones who were fascinated by the violence of their fellow man.

“You all are idiots!” He shouted from a nearby roof. Nobody paid him any attention.

As he was about to jump down and find one of the sneaky entrances into the subway system, something caught the corner of his eye that seemed out of place a couple blocks over. Maybe it was the type of white panel van, maybe it was the furtive look of the white driver and his pale sweaty skin as he got out and started sauntering down the road, maybe it was the angle that the van was parked, maybe it was all of the above. It made something niggle at the back of Deadpool’s mind.

“It’s a fucking decoy,” he growled. Getting to street level as fast as he could, he dashed down the sidewalk, shoving his way through the crowds of people evacuating or heading in for a closer look at the unfolding drama. Except they were going the wrong way. There was no bomb around the front of the library, it was a block past Bryant Park, on the other side.

Outside the area cordoned off by police.

The van was on the corner in front of a few shops, inside which Wade could see people were still milling about. Maybe trying to hide, not wanting to be out in the open during such an emergency.

“You people are so stupid, you should be getting _out_ of here!” Deadpool dashed full tilt towards the van. The man he’d seen before was joined further down the sidewalk by another white dude in a green cap, and they huddled together as they exited the area, trying to look inconspicuous.

“Get out of here! Everybody out of here!” He had to go to extremes to solve this problem, since the police were in the _wrong fucking place_.

All right, so he was panicking. Bombs were not good in public spaces. There were people of all ages around.

At his shouted words, the two men looked over their shoulders, saw him, and started running. He could chase them down, but that would leave the problem of the bomb which he was dead sure was in that damn van.

Not wanting to risk any traps that might have been left on the doors, he opted to go in right through the front windshield. He smashed the safety glass and tore it out, ignoring the sounds of cops and people screaming as they caught on to something new going on.

Climbing over the back seat, his jaw dropped. It was like the scene out of Fight Club. The entire back of the van filled with explosive canisters, wires, everything you’d need to take out a skyscraper or a city block.

“I should have stayed in fucking bed.”

He really, really wished Peter were there.

“Timer, timer, where’s the fucking timer, there’s always a—there it is! Now I just need to—“

The panels on the van weren’t solid as he’d previously thought. He’d been so hyper focused on finding the detonator that he hadn’t noticed that you could see out, even though you couldn’t see in from the outside. And what he saw was a group of children with a couple adults huddled in a shop not thirty feet from the van, some of them peering up over the bottom edge of the window.

Oh no.

Deadpool had put together any number of explosives in his lifetime. Some of them better than others. There was no way that the cops could get their bomb squad here in the three minutes he saw on the digital display of the device sitting in the middle of the deadly chaos.

What he didn’t count on was the fact that _he_ didn’t have three minutes either.

The device emitted a high pitched beep. Deadpool had half a second to guess that the men he’d seen fleeing the scene had possessed an emergency remote detonator before his world was engulfed in fire, the roar of the explosion, agony, and the distant truncated screams of life lost.

This was not a good day.


	2. Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter deal with the fallout from the explosion. Sort of.

The first thing Wade was aware of was not the world around him, but the world inside his head. The lingering pain, the smell of the fuel in the bomb, the blinding light of the explosion that had burned his eyeballs away to nothing. But not before he’d seen the terrified looks on a dozen small faces.

Unwillingly, one of those faces was substituted in his mind for Ellie’s. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Consciousness was not gracing him with its touch.

Eventually his vision swam back to him. There was pressure on his hand. His brow furrowed and he blinked to clear the fog from his eyes, and saw the familiar bold white shapes of Spider-Man’s eye pieces.

Peter was sitting beside him, holding his hand. He was in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages. When he attempted to speak, all that came out was a dry croak.

“Oh shit you’re awake.”

Wade could hear the relief in Peter’s voice through the mask. This wasn’t the first time that he’d had to come back from dead in front of his boyfriend, but had Peter ever seen him like this?

“Unfortunately,” Wade groaned.

He couldn’t see Peter’s face enough to see if he frowned at that, but he knew the guy well enough to know he’d frowned at that.

“Water,” Wade rasped.

There was water sitting nearby, a glass with a straw ready to go. Peter brought it over to him and he sat up to grab it. He swatted Peter’s hand away when he reached out to help him up; he could sit up on his own, thank-you-very-much. He knew how his body regenerated. By the time he woke up he was always able to move around.

“Why am I in a hospital? What the hell can they do for me here?” Wade squeezed out a complaint before he started chugging away at the water. Which he wished with all his heart was a stiff drink instead, but they didn’t exactly serve those in hospitals. “And why am I covered in bandages?”

“You were in a body bag first,” Peter said, his voice that strained tone that said he was holding back on expressing himself fully. “In… several of them.” He sounded like he was going to throw up. “The bandages were a courtesy to the sheets so they could move you to a bed.”

Unspoken was that the bandages were also a courtesy to anyone who had to look at his nasty corpse regrowing all his tissues.

“Thanks,” Wade burbled sardonically, a bubble of mucus popping in his freshly moistened throat.

Peter straightened in his seat, releasing Wade’s hand, and looked away. Wade could tell that he’d made a misstep but _he_ was the one who’d been exploded into chunks. _He_ was the one who had seen a bunch of kids die right in front of him and would be guaranteed to have nightmares about it. He was entitled to be cranky.

While he slurped down the rest of the water and allowed Peter to pout, he noticed a book sitting in Peter’s lap. And a book on the table next to him. So, uh. Peter had been there for a while, probably.

Now Wade felt a little bad for being snippy. But he still felt like he had every right to be snippy so he wasn’t going to bother apologizing. Peter was smart enough he could figure that out.

As soon as his throat was whetted, and a few more awkward moments of silence passed between them, Wade asked, “How many?” His voice trembled. He didn’t want to know, but he _had_ to know. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was going to nag him constantly until he did.

“How many what?”

Wade scowled and reached out to grab Peter’s hand again. “You _know_ what I mean, _Spider-Man_.” Couldn’t exactly call him Peter in public, and even if no one else was in the room, a hospital was public. That had been made clear to him in the past. “How. Many? Don’t think I don’t notice the conspicuous lack of a television in this room!”

How many dead. How many people did he let die because he was an idiot and couldn’t disarm a bomb on time. Because maybe he freaked the bombers out too much and they set it off early. Because he fucked up like he always did.

Instead of a clear answer, Peter mumbled something under his breath.

“Just _tell me!”_

“A little over two hundred,” Peter said woodenly.

Wade began to shake. “No, I _know_ you know the exact number. God dammit I _have_ to know!”

Peter took in a big breath, stalling obviously, and Wade wanted to punch the breath right back out of him but he just sat there vibrating in distress until the guy answered him.

“They’re still digging people out. Last count was two hundred twenty-three.”

Wade felt panic welling up inside him. “Phone. My phone. Where’s my phone?”

“Your phone got blown up.”

“Shit! Fuck! I need a phone!” Wade threw the blankets off himself, ignoring how they were still splotched with blood, and started to jerk out of the bed.

Peter put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Wade, Wade, it’s—here, this is mine! Take mine!” He shoved his cell phone into Wade’s hand.

The bandages on his hands were in the way. Wade ripped them off with his teeth and frantically started punching in numbers from memory. The phone rang once, twice, and just as he was about to scream, the line picked up.

“Yeah who’s this?”

“Ellie!” Wade clutched the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his ears so loud he could barely hear her. “Ellie it’s me. Where are you? Are you ok? Were you downtown? You weren’t downtown were you?”

“Dad? No, dad, I’m fine, what’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you’re fine? Everything in the right place? No missing pieces, no third degree burns? You didn't get blown up?”

“What?!”

“Ok no you’re fine,” Wade said, but he didn’t feel like she was fine. He wouldn’t feel like she was fine until he had her in his arms, until he could smell her hair and see the healthy shine in her eyes. “You’re fine honey. It’s ok.”

“Are _you_ ok?”

“Yeah yeah I’m great! I’m always great, obviously.”

“I gotta go, Emily says it’s dinner time.”

“Oo, what are you having?”

“I dunno, smells like garlic and onions though. Bye!”

“Bye honey I l—“

The line went dead. Sure, why would a young girl want to hang around on the phone with her weird dad who had pretty much had nothing to do with her life until extremely recently? Her weird dad who was a big joke to everyone because he could never do anything right, except everyone wanted him to clean up their dirty business. Have an awful shitty problem that you want to just _go away?_ Call Deadpool, he’ll do _anything_ for a buck. Nothing is beyond that moron. Watch out, though, he’s not housebroken.

Wade barked a laugh, and the plastic casing of the phone creaked under the pressure as he squeezed it.

“Wade.” Red fingers came into view and pinched the phone. “Wade, my phone,” Spider-Man said. He tugged on the phone gently, and Wade released it.

“She’s fine,” he said.

His daughter was fine, but the others weren’t. Those kids he saw in the shop weren’t. They were dead. Past experience made sure that he knew exactly what that sort of explosion at that proximity would do to the human body. Those people wouldn’t be regenerating like Wade did.

Mouth still dry as ash, Wade took the water from beside his bed and sucked on the straw until it went dry. He kept sucking on it, staring at the lumps of his feet underneath the thin hospital blankets. It wasn’t what he was seeing, though.

Two hundred twenty-three people. That’s how many people he failed. Not counting the ones they were still digging out. Not counting his daughter. Not counting Peter. Not counting himself. He failed them, every single one of them. Why did he try? Why did he try so hard to be good?

He hadn’t felt this low in years. He should have known better, known better than to think that whatever happiness and contentment he’d found recently had anything to do with any _actual_ progression in his life. It was all just a big fucking joke to trick him into complacency.

Peter was talking to him, but it was muffled and distorted like they were underwater.

“Yeah,” Wade said, which was just a reflex. He had no idea what question he was answering. It wasn’t like he’d never given Peter a bullshit answer before when he quit listening.

A warm, firm hand squeezed his shoulder. He turned to look up at Spider-Man’s wide, blank white eyes. They weren’t allowed to kiss in public. Nobody was in the room but they were still in public. Peter squeezed his shoulder instead. It was supposed to mean a kiss. That was the agreement.

Another muffled question. Wade still didn’t hear it. Couldn’t read Peter’s lips through the mask.

Nodding, he felt a manic grin start to crack across his face, but he suppressed it. “You bet.”

A heavy pause sat between them, and Wade went back to sucking uselessly on his straw. Peter stepped across the room to grab a pitcher and refill his glass. Oh, more water. That was nice.

“I won’t be long.”

Waving a hand at him, Wade focused on the water running down his throat, soothing a bit of that ash feeling.

—

Peter was pretty sure that Wade had mentally checked out after his short phone call with his daughter. It didn’t happen often, but it happened sometimes, and Peter had come to recognize the signs. Not that it was hard to do. The glassy look in his eyes and the way he slurred his speech were pretty obvious indicators. It was frustrating, but Peter couldn’t blame him. What had happened that day was a massive tragedy and he himself was only barely coping by focusing on helping Wade.

One thing at a time, right? After all, _he_ wasn’t the one who’d been blasted to pieces.

Shit. He’d been trying not to think about that either.

It didn’t matter how many times Wade came back from the dead, Peter was a wreck every time, worrying if _this_ time Wade’s luck—such as it was—would have run out. It was irrational, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He cared too much about Wade to let that go.

If only he’d been there. He could have _done_ something. Maybe it wouldn’t have escalated like that. Wade wasn’t exactly a subtle person.

No, he shouldn’t think like that. Wade _tried_.

Carrying a bag of sweats that he’d just bought from the nearest shop, Peter had to take a few minutes on the hospital roof to get his breathing under control and make the sharp tingling behind his eyeballs stop. What was that bullshit he’d told himself about coping? He had to get it together.

Once he felt like he wasn’t going to shatter when he saw Wade’s bandaged face, he climbed down the outside of the building to slip into Wade’s room after tapping gently on the window with his knuckles.

“Okay, I got your size, but you might not like the color.” He tossed the green pants and shirt at Wade, then dumped the shopping bag in the trash.

“Ah, but the green matches my eyes!” Wade said. He grabbed the sweatshirt and held it up to his chest, wiggling his shoulders back and forth as if he were showing it off.

“Your eyes aren’t green.” Peter frowned.

“Shh!” Wade held a hand up next to his mouth and said in a stage whisper. “They don’t know that!”

Peter let out a long sigh. “Okay, smart ass, the sooner you change into those the sooner I can get you out of here. I made a call to the usual source and you don’t have to do any of the paperwork.”

“Woo hoo! No paperwork!” Wade practically danced out of bed and ripped the bandages off.

It took effort not to cringe at the bloodstains and the remaining clots all over Wade’s body. He had _really_ been a mess. But Peter wasn’t going to say anything about that.

“Hurry up,” he said instead. “I know you don’t want to stay here any longer than I do.”

“Are you kidding? I _love_ hospital food!”

Peter snorted in response and shook his head. “Come on. Get dressed and let’s go home.”

Despite the attitude he’d taken at the hospital, Wade clung hard to Peter the entire way as they swung across lower Manhattan and over the bridge into Brooklyn. It was unusually quiet for him as well. Normally he would be humming or going “whee!” or such things. Tonight, though, he was dug in like a tick, and he didn’t let go until they’d arrived at their place.

“Well that was a day I would rather not repeat any time soon!” Wade looked around their kitchen, propping his fists on his hips and grinning. “But hey, I got this _sweet_ outfit out of the deal. You think I could paint it and dress up as a Minecraft creeper for Comic Con this fall?”

“Wade.” Peter pulled his mask off his head for the first time in hours and he was a sweaty mess. His face was flushed and his hair stuck up at all sorts of angles. He ran quick fingers through it automatically to tame it a little bit, without even thinking about it.

“Yes, shnookums?” Suddenly Wade was right in front of him again, and he grabbed the front of Peter’s suit to pull him in and kiss him hard. There was nothing to protest in this; Peter wanted it just as much.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

“Psh.” Wade turned away and sauntered into the kitchen, immediately zeroing in on the fridge. “What for? It happened, it’s over, time to move on. Also time to kick your ass in Forza. Get into your jammies and meet me at the TV immediately.”

This wasn’t unusual for Wade. He didn’t deal with things. Hell, Peter could relate, though he didn’t go _quite_ as hard as Wade did with the whole self denial thing. This “nothing is wrong” attitude had happened before. The first couple of times Peter had been in close attendance he’d tried to get through and get Wade to face what was bothering him, and it had just backfired.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that if he left Wade alone and didn’t press, one of two things would happen: Wade would get over whatever was bothering him on his own, or he would give in and unload on Peter. More often than not it was the first thing. Which was just as well; no one had ever accused _Peter_ of dealing with his feelings well.

So it was fine. Wade’s fake cheer would go away eventually and they’d deal with whatever was left, like they had before.

Two hours later after smashing cars into literally everything on the map instead of actually racing, Wade fell asleep slouched across Peter’s lap, a mostly empty beer clinging between his loose fingertips by the grace of Wade’s skin oil and the surface tension of water molecules.

Shutting down the TV and the game console quietly, Peter set the can along with its fellows on the coffee table and gathered his lover up in his arms. He padded with him into the bedroom and tucked him in quietly.

“Always falling asleep on the couch, aren’t you,” he whispered, smoothing a hand back over Wade’s rough but hairless scalp. There was a crease between his brows and a tension in his face that was sometimes there when Wade was having not-good dreams.

Deciding to wake him up this time, Peter kissed him and cupped a hand over the side of his face. Wade gasped out of sleep, but immediately knew where he was and kissed Peter back.

“You remember I love you, right?”

“Oh, I know you love my dick, at least, the rest of me is an asshole.” Wade smirked.

“Your asshole’s not so bad either.” Peter grinned, and playfully licked the tip of Wade’s nose.

“Eew you’re gross! Help there’s a gross man licking my face!”

“Shut up. Sleep now.”

“Hey you know I never asked how conferences went.”

Peter tensed. Conferences had been cancelled because of the city emergency. Thank goodness, because he would have had to come up with some excuse to leave regardless. The subject wasn’t one he wanted to get into, though. “Oh, you know, the usual, parents whining about their kids grades when the kids actively skip class and throw gum at the ceiling. And the administration has banned those spinner toys, so I get to deal with _that_ issue too.”

Wade gasped and his voice shrank. “ _But I love fidget spinners!_ ”

Peter chuckled. “Luckily you’re not one of my students, then, huh?”

“What about the time we did naughty teacher play?”

Peter shoved a pillow in Wade’s face.

—

Aside from short little bursts here and there, Wade did not sleep a damn bit all night. The time he’d slept on the couch was probably the most he got the entire time until he pretended to still be asleep when Peter’s alarm went off in the morning, signaling the time for him to get up and go to work. At least he was awake enough to remember Peter’s sweet good morning and goodbye kisses.

After that, the apartment felt… abysmally empty. He spent a while trolling people on Twitter with old memes, then when his account got locked he started texting them to Peter instead. Until Peter begged him to stop, which meant that he had to move on to the next distraction.

A bit salty at Peter’s admonishment, Wade tried to have a conversation with Peter’s spider suit as if it were actually Peter talking to him. He stretched it out over the back of the couch and paced back and forth.

“I tried, you know? I really tried.”

“ _I know you did, Wade. You always try._ ”

“And I fucked up. I always fuck up.”

“ _Not always, Wade! You’ve saved so many people!_ ”

“Doesn’t matter how many people I can save one day if the next day I screw up so bad that over two hundred die another day.”

“ _Two hundred and twenty-three._ ”

“Shut up! I know how many people!”

“ _You did your best. It’s not your fault._ ”

“Like hell it isn’t my fucking fault. I should have been faster, _better_.”

“ _You can’t blame yourself for everything. Those men in the van are responsible_.”

“You know what, Pete, I don’t want to hear it. You’re such a hypocrite. If you were in my shoes you’d be blaming yourself, too. How many times do I have to hear about your stupid uncle?”

“ _But I had a chance to stop the guy_ before _he hurt my Uncle Ben and I didn’t take it! I let him go because I was being a prissy little bitch!_ ”

Wade stopped and glared at the flaccid Spider-Man suit. “You fucker. Peter would never say something like that.”

This was pathetic. What was he doing? Being a fucking mental case is what he was doing. The suit was going back into the closet, wadded up and tucked hidden under a bunch of junk in the corner where Peter kept it.

The rest of the day was a haze of TV, video games, and beer. He put on his best face when Peter came home, deflecting any inquiries. Nothing anyone can do about those dead kids now!

It was lonely during the day without Peter there, and he couldn’t call Ellie either because she’d be in school too. School was just awful like that, taking away the people he loved when he wanted attention and company.

It wasn’t just wanting company, though. It was that he didn't want to be left alone with his shitty thoughts and the images of blown up bloody chunks of people that kept flashing in his head.

Staying in the apartment was not helping him at all. After a few days of that bullshit he started going out while Peter was at work, cruising around bars, spray painting dicks underneath bridges and on park benches.

Somehow one thing led to another and as he was stumbling out of a bar at noon, sobering up faster than he’d like because of his healing factor, he ended up accidentally stealing a motorcycle. Later he was not precisely sure how it happened. Was he that much of a piece of shit that he could climb on a motorcycle and jack the thing without realizing it?

It was a hell of a lot of fun, though, while it lasted. Until he crashed it over the side of the Queensboro Bridge into the East River.

Climbing soaking wet onto the gravel surrounding Four Freedom’s Park, Wade lay on his back and stared up at the sky, laughing. It wasn’t really a fun laugh, it was that laugh that had a sick desperation to it.

“Another Fight Club reference! Nice one.”

Making his way home, Wade cleaned himself up and made like he’d been playing Sudoku when Peter got off work. They went into their usual evening routine. Argued about the dishes, argued about when would be a good time for Ellie to make her first visit to the apartment, argued about what to order for takeout, then went out and argued about nothing while they beat up bad guys together.

“Jesus, you two, get a fucking room!” one of the perps yelled at them.

He got two fists in the face simultaneously.

Back home, Peter seemed frustrated with him. Not that he wasn't frustrated when they were arguing, which they did partly for reals and partly because it was just what they did sometimes, but this seemed like a special kind of frustration. Wade didn’t want to deal with it.

“I thought I’d leave you alone about it, but this is just getting worse. Wade, you _have_ to talk to me.”

Oh, so that was it, was it?

“We _did_ talk. All I got from you was a bunch of hypocritical ‘it’s not your fault’ this and ‘you tried your best’ that. Like I don’t know that already.”

Peter looked extremely confused.

“It’s fine! You’re the one who keeps obsessing over it. It’s done with. In the past. Finito.” Wade sliced his hand through the air. “Now if you’ll stop being a little bitch about it, we can pick something to watch on TV.”

All he got in response to that was a solid glare while Peter stood there with his fists at his sides. Abruptly he turned and stalked off into the bedroom, shutting the door a lot more quietly than Wade would have guessed he would with that look on his face.

“Your loss!” he shouted, and flopped his ass down on the couch with the remote.

No, he didn’t feel hurt. He didn’t feel lonely. He was just going to sit there until he got cold with the autumn night air, then crawl into bed where Peter will have already made it warm under the patchwork quilt that Aunt May had made for them. Peter’s metabolism didn’t make him run as hot as Wade’s healing factor made _him_ , but it was pretty close. That’s what mattered. A nice warm bed.

So what if he clung harder to Peter’s waist and buried his face in the nape of Peter’s neck? It was just warmer. He didn’t need the company.

Except, when Peter was gone at work the next day, Wade was left feeling totally bereft of that company he’d spurned the night before. When he tried texting Peter, he was told that they were doing make up conferences and he’d be late again. Why did Peter have to work such long hours? Peter hadn’t been the one to cancel the previous appointments with snot-nosed brats’ parents.

That thought lit a fuse in Wade’s brain and he suddenly realized that _he_ was a snot-nosed brat’s parent, and no one had talked to him about Ellie’s parent-teacher conference. Was he supposed to go to that? Was her guardian doing those things and not including him?

Without even making a conscious decision to go there, Wade found himself at Ellie’s school, peering at her through the classroom’s window. He waved his hand frantically until the teacher noticed and screamed, and then the whole class turned to look. Ellie recognized him and she grinned and waved back.

That grin on her face was more precious than gold.

Five minutes later he was being escorted off the premises by the school’s two police liaisons, who didn’t appreciate his yelling about parental rights and told him that they were going to report him to the precinct. He asked them in a very outdoor voice what was so wrong about climbing in through a window, but didn’t get their answer because he was too busy trying to hear what Ellie was shouting at him from the front door to the school.

“Bye, dad! I’ll see you next weekend!”

When he got home, however, he got an angry call from Ellie’s guardian who yelled at him for half an hour straight about boundaries and behavior and blah blah blah, he stopped listening. The end result was that he would _not_ be seeing Ellie that weekend, and would have to wait for another time.

A few beers in his otherwise empty stomach later, and Wade was sitting on the fire escape, staring out across Brooklyn towards the skyscrapers across the river in Manhattan. He was a complete fucking failure in every area of his life. He couldn’t be a good hero, he couldn’t be a good father, he couldn’t be a good citizen. He couldn’t even _pretend_ to have a normal life, not looking like he did.

He poured the rest of his beer down through the metal grate of the fire escape, staring at the mottled and nasty skin on the back of his hand. It didn’t matter if his body was immortal, he _hated_ it. Things would have been much simpler if he’d just died of cancer without going into the Weapon X program. But they’d promised him he could be a hero.

He’d had delusions of being a hero like Spider-Man.

Until he found out what a disaster asshole Peter Parker was.

Closing his eyes, he threw the empty bottle and listened to the glass shatter in the alley below. They were both assholes. They fit together well. Ever since that bomb, though, everything had felt off. Everything had felt _bad_. Wade didn’t want it to feel bad anymore.

Two years earlier, when Peter had finally gotten his Master’s degree and had gotten his teaching job, they had taken a long weekend together to celebrate. A long, lazy weekend. They went out to eat good food, they went out to see a good movie, and pretty much every other moment was spent having the most fantastic sex that two people with superhuman stamina could have. Soft morning sex, hot wet shower sex, frisky afternoon sex all over the apartment, and drawn out kinky sex at night before falling asleep tangled in each other and covered in sweat. Rinse and repeat.

That had been a wonderful weekend. It had felt really good. They’d not had a dedicated vacation or date weekend since then.

Wade wanted to feel good again. He wanted it desperately. This _whatever-it-was_ was tearing him up.

Half past six, Peter got home, looking tired and flustered. Wade let him be, mostly, but gave him the usual welcome home hug and kiss, and made him waffles for dinner. (“God bless your Aunt for giving us this waffle maker.” “Wade, you stole it from her kitchen. I had to buy her a new one.”)

When Peter said he was going to bed, Wade joined him. However, instead of curling up with him, he climbed over the mattress to shove Peter onto his back.

“Wade—“

Climbing over Peter’s lap, Wade pressed his palms against the light fuzz on Peter’s chest and smoothed his hands up over his shoulders, then back down again. Leaning down, he claimed Peter’s mouth without saying anything else, making his demand clear with his body language alone.

He wanted this, he wanted to feel good.

For a few moments Peter kissed him back, sighing softly into Wade’s mouth, but the moment that Wade slipped a hand down into his boxers he pulled back.

“Hey, I know we haven’t had sex in a bit, but I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Peter frowned.

Wade bent over further and sucked Peter’s earlobe in between his teeth. “Mm, why not?”

Peter hissed and arched his back. “You’ve, ah, been ‘off’ lately, and don’t think I don’t know why. This isn’t going to fix anything.”

“Nothing to fix, and it’ll feel good.” Wade let his voice be the deepest sexy rumble he could make, murmuring in Peter’s ear. Peter reacted exactly as he knew he would and shuddered. “Let’s feel good, Pete. It’s been too long. You’ve been working too hard.”

Maybe a bit of his bitterness over Peter working too hard and as consequence not giving Wade enough attention came through, but mild guilt trips were almost always guaranteed to get Peter to give in in a variety of situations.

Peter sighed and inhaled through his nose as Wade kissed him again. “Sure.”

Wade grinned against Peter’s mouth, and he reached down to grasp Peter’s dick and squeeze lightly with his rough hand. “Show me what you got, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ever wonderful, kind, talented, sexy [Vixen13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixen13) shall be providing something spicy for the next chapter, since she's helping me write this and keep motivated. Stay tuned. 🙌
> 
> Comments are appreciated, and you can find me on twitter @bexalizard (main) or @xenospider_art (18+) !


	3. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade gets what he asked for, and they have a grand old time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure sex. Enjoy.

Peter knew it was a bad idea, but in all honesty, he didn’t have room to talk. How many times had he used sex as a means of escape? Sometimes it was just easier to wash away the pain rather than face it. He understood that.

So it was no surprise that he found himself on his back with a determined Wade riding his dick. Of the two of them, Wade had more stamina these days. The squatting and bouncing position would be a workout for anyone, but Wade just kept going like the energizer bunny. All Peter had to do was hold on and not blow too soon.

It was very important to not blow too soon.

In his younger years when he had a refractory period enhanced by hormones and a healing factor, he could almost keep up with Wade. That was no longer the case. The problem was, Wade didn’t stop even if Peter did, so it was easier to grit his teeth and hold on for dear life.

Wade’s filthy moans and filthy mouth were not at all helping.

“Ohhh, fuck, your dick feels so good.”

Peter was not immune to a little ego stroking. He tensed his fingers into the flesh of Wade’s legs, ripping another moan from the man. His stomach was quivering with the need to find release. Maybe Wade would be willing to take a break if he came enough.

In thinking that, Peter lifted one hand and started stroking Wade, perhaps a little too superhuman fast, but Wade wasn’t complaining. The cum from Wade’s previous orgasms slicked the way, making the demanding movement easier to take. It wasn’t long before Wade was whining and slamming his hips down hard enough that the mattress bounced.

Peter was _so_ not going to make it.

“So good, so good, so good to me,” Wade chanted, his head tilted back and eyes rolling.

That sight was too much, Peter was jerking his hips up erratically and finding sweet, sweet release at long last. His whole body trembled with the force of it. Wade came not long after and continued riding until Peter was too soft to keep going.

Peter gripped Wade’s hips with enough strength to stop them from further attempts to move. Wade whined, bottom lip stuck out as he clenched his ass in hopes of getting more out of Peter. That sensation had Peter choking for breath.

“I’m tapped out, babe,” Peter wheezed.

“But we used to go for days!” Wade complained.

“Does that look possible for me anymore?” Peter meant it to be a joke, but a little too much heat slipped into his words. It wasn’t like he was a fan of the belly he was growing or how hard it was to keep up his nightly patrols while maintaining a full time job. He could do without Wade reminding Peter of his steady decline in the bedroom as well.

“I just have to get you in the mood again, yeah?” Wade steamrolled on. He wiggled out of Peter’s grip and shifted, freeing Peter’s dick at last. He moved down to kiss along Peter’s chest, nuzzling at the softness that now replaced the once chiseled abs.

Wade stroked up and down Peter’s sides in a gentle way, lulling Peter into a hazy post-orgasmic state. He floated in that pleasant feeling, his mind drifting somewhere between awake and asleep as Wade continued his soft exploration of stomach, hips, and thighs.

Eventually, Wade’s lips fell on Peter’s soft cock. He nuzzled and kissed at it, laving his tongue along the tip. It did little to rouse it, as Peter was spent, but it still felt good. It sent bright jolts up his body, causing starbursts behind his eyelids. He was still a bit sensitive, but not so much for him to pull away.

Wade took advantage of that by sucking the soft flesh into his mouth and rolling it around. It was a unique sensation for both involved, something that they couldn’t have done a few years ago without Peter immediately getting hard. Now he let himself swim in the sensation.

It was hot, wet, and electric all at once. It was like a gentle massage tipped too far into the side of pleasure. Peter’s body lit up with the feeling of it. His muscles would randomly tense in his legs, back, or stomach, only for a large, warm hand to soothe over it and leave him relaxed once more. His whole world narrowed down to the bone deep sensation of pleasure washing over him, and he let himself sink into it.

As much as Peter would have been content to stay in that foggy state, Wade was determined, and Peter’s body couldn’t hold out forever. The focused attention eventually had Peter growing again, not that Wade let up at all. Peter had the unique sensation of his erection sliding slow and steady down into Wade’s throat.

_Fuck_ , that was hot.

Peter’s hips thrust forward the tiniest of bits. He felt Wade’s self-satisfied smile stretch around his cock. It felt like Peter had just lost some unspoken competition between them.

Wade pulled back with a filthy slurping noise. “Look who’s awake,” he preened, voice still deep and a touch hoarse from showing off his deep throating skills.

One more orgasm and Peter would be out with no hope of return. He needed to do something.

In a move that proved no matter his age, he was still Spider-man, Peter sat up and pulled Wade into the air prior to flipping him onto his back and into the mattress. Wade’s eyes went wide with surprise and then eagerness. Peter reached into their nightstand and pulled out Wade’s favorite dildo.

“Let’s have a little fun,” Peter smirked and waggled it between them.

Sure, he couldn’t vibrate out whatever was bothering Wade, and no matter how he tried, Wade couldn’t just orgasm his anxiety straight out of his dick. That didn’t mean they couldn’t both use some much needed time to forget everything else and have fun.

Sometimes Peter forgot how nice it was to just let go of all the deadlines and building pressures of his life so he could let mind-numbing pleasure wash it all away. Surely whatever their problems were, they’d feel better after a long break of not thinking about them?

“Yes, yes, Pete, _please_ , I want more,” Wade moaned, reaching for Peter and making grabby hands at him.

Peter smirked and leaned forward, forcing Wade’s knees apart with his body. “You’re insatiable. And after you’ve already made such a mess.” He held out the dildo, which was long, fat, a deep shade of red, with textured nubs along the sides, and smeared it through Wade’s cum which was spattered over both of them.

Wade’s nostrils flared and he sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watched. “I’m a messy boy.”

“Mm-hm,” Peter said, slowly rolling the toy along Wade’s rough skin.

Abdomen flexing with his heated breaths, Wade groaned. His cock oozed onto his belly and his hips squirmed.

“Can you hold still and be a _good_ boy?”

Chuckling, Wade shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not with m—mmf!” His words were cut off as Peter pressed the head of the dildo between his lips, forcing it into his mouth with gentle insistence. He moaned and opened his mouth to take it in as Peter pushed.

“You taste good, don’t you,” Peter said. “Get it real good and slobbery.”

A muffled affirmative in reply.

“You want me to fuck you with this?”

Wade nodded as much as he could with a big fat dildo shoved into his mouth.

“Grab the headboard and don’t let go,” Peter said, and Wade did it. Peter then removed the dildo and sat back on his heels.

“What, no webbing bondage?”

Peter shook his head. “Not tonight. You have to focus and hang on and exercise some self control for once.” Self control was one of Wade’s worst and least favorite skills, but the best time to make him try and use it was definitely in the bedroom. Some situations called for it—and if Wade had to focus on being good, it would help get his mind off of what was bothering him.

There was method to Peter’s madness. Beyond, of course, the satisfaction of having the big man quivering and at his whim underneath him.

Lower lip stuck out, slick with saliva and other fluids, Wade pouted. “Okay.”

Peter hummed as he trailed the dildo down Wade’s chest, reaching up to pinch and tweak a nipple when he rubbed it over Wade’s cock. Wade’s breathing picked up again, and the metal bars of the headboard creaked from how hard he gripped it.

“God, Pete, stop teasing,” Wade whined.

Oh no, Peter wasn’t done teasing. He pinched Wade’s other nipple and pressed the dildo up under Wade’s balls, stimulating his perineum. He was still very slick and wet down there from their earlier activities, and well stretched already, so this was not going to be difficult.

Still, he wanted to draw this out as long as possible while he had full control of the situation. It was going to be the best in the long and the short run.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Peter hummed, crawling down further to suck the head of Wade’s dick into his mouth while he teased at Wade’s rim with the toy. He had to use his free hand to hold tight to Wade’s hip to keep him from humping up into Peter’s mouth. “ _Be good_ ,” he reminded, pulling off briefly to speak.

Wade whined and did all he was allowed, which was to spread his knees further. “Please, Pete.”

Peter ran his tongue over Wade’s glans, teasing around the edges as he continued to stroke Wade’s crack with the dildo. Wade’s gasps and mumbles were delightful as usual in that deep voice of his, and Peter reveled in how he came apart under Peter’s ministrations.

Finally he gave Wade what he wanted, and shoved the toy inside. Wade’s muscle opened easily, inviting the girth of silicone inside, and he let out a long, low, pleased groan, throwing his head back.

In and out, deeper a little bit at a time, Peter fed the dildo into Wade’s ass. It was twice Peter’s own width, so even being pre-stretched with a slippery load of cum inside there was still some resistance, but Wade absolutely loved it. His panting increased, his hips squirmed, and the headboard creaked in protest.

“Oh god, oh fuck Peter, that’s so good,” he gasped.

Peter was working his tongue slowly, just enough to give pleasure but not enough to get Wade any closer to his next orgasm, and he rolled his eyes up to watch the contortions of Wade’s expression. Years of intimacy had brought them to where it always felt like the best sex they’d ever had. Knowing someone else’s body and reactions better than their own.

Pulling back, Peter watched the drool of saliva and precum dripping between his mouth and Wade’s dick before he licked it up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Wade said, seeing Peter do that. Another gush of precum dribbled onto his stomach.

Without further warning, Peter pressed his palm to the base of the dildo and shoved it the rest of the way in. Wade cried out, his right leg giving an involuntary jerk, and Peter watched while he squirmed and adjusted to the intrusion and swore to himself.

Spreading a palm through the slick on Wade’s belly, Peter smoothed his hand up and down Wade’s abs, tracing the hard muscle under his skin. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he pulled the toy out and started with shallow thrusts.

Wade’s eyes squinted shut and he gritted his teeth, pleasured grunts and groans crawling out of his throat. “Pete, Pete, turn it on.”

“Oh you want it on?” Peter hauled up Wade’s right leg and hooked it over his own shoulder. “Sure, babe.” He looked down at the dildo to find the switch for the tiny bullet vibe inserted into the bottom of it. He jerked the toy without actually flicking the switch. “Uh oh.”

Wade’s brows drew together and he looked down at Peter. “What?”

“I think the battery is dead.” Peter jerked on it again.

“What?!” Wade let go of the headboard, looking totally concerned.

Peter laughed, amused at the stricken expression on Wade’s face. “Just kidding!” He turned on the vibrator and shoved the dildo in exactly the way he knew to hit Wade’s prostate.

Wade practically shrieked and half jumped off the bed with the jolt of sensation on his already overworked insides. Peter gripped tight to Wade’s thigh and worked him with the toy over and over. Wade eventually got some control back over himself and grabbed the headboard again, thrusting his hips into the air as much as he could in time with Peter’s motions.

“Feel better than my dick?” Peter asked calmly, despite his own erection weeping against the sheets.

“Ye—no!” Wade panted.

Peter laughed. “Trick question, I know. Why don’t you go ahead and touch yourself?” 

Wade let go of the bed with one hand and wrapped it around his wet cock, groaning as he started to stroke. “Shit, yes!”

With that, Peter turned the vibration to the highest setting on the toy and held it still against Wade’s insides.

“Oh fuck, _oh fuck,_ I—!” Wade’s back arched and his toes curled as he came in stuttering spurts, his dick twitching in his hand.

Even though Wade just came again, Peter didn’t let up. He knew where Wade’s tolerance was, and he was going to go right up to the line. He held on tight as Wade thrashed and sobbed through the overstimulation from the vibrator, and started thrusting with the toy again once he could tell Wade was past it and climbing to another orgasm.

Peter lost track of time. He didn’t think about how he was going to get barely any sleep and be totally wrecked at work the next day. He didn’t think about how off Wade had been acting and refusing to talk to him. He didn’t think about any of that as he brought Wade over the edge again and again.

He felt the thrill, and he felt the love for his partner as Wade went through wave after wave of pleasure. Sometimes mouthing at his skin, sometimes slurping at his dick, sometimes leaving the dildo in to rattle Wade’s bones while they made out.

It wasn’t until Wade was burbling and drooling and begging for no more that Peter turned off and removed the toy, letting it roll onto the towel under Wade’s ass. The look on Wade’s face was totally gone, which meant that Peter had done good.

But Peter was hard as a rock again and half mad with the need for another release. He grabbed Wade’s ankles and pushed them over his shoulders, leaning down to twine his fingers with Wade’s.

Wade whimpered, still shuddering with aftershocks, but he nodded and sought out Peter’s lips with his own, tilting his jaw forward. Peter kissed him and shoved his cock into Wade’s loose hole. They moaned against each other’s mouths, clutching tightly to one another as Peter rocked into him hard and fast with all the desperation he’d let build up while he pleasured Wade alone.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Wade gasped out his name, curling around Peter’s body and clawing blunted nails down his back.

That was it for Peter. He moaned into Wade’s neck and shuddered as pleasure washed through him and out his dick, and he shot his seed deep into Wade. They both had to catch their breath after, Wade’s legs falling down on either side of Peter. Boneless and sated they lay there, mouths mushing together in lazy kisses, sweat and other body fluids cooling over their skin.

“We have really got to shower,” Wade said after a long few minutes of them just breathing each other in.

Peter nodded against Wade’s chest with a groan, then reluctantly rolled off of him. “Let’s wash up together. But no shower sex. I am seriously done.”

Wade, for once, agreed with the sentiment, and they kept their washing activities to gentle strokes and kisses.

Crawling into bed after they’d finished cleaning up, Peter snuggled close against Wade. As he pulled the covers over his head, he thought this really had been a good idea. Wade was right, it had been too long since they’d really gone to town on each other and devoted that much energy in the bedroom.

Peter was asleep within moments, Wade’s arm tucked under his head, while Wade stared up at the ceiling in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this distraction be enough to get Wade out of his funk? Well, you'll just have to see in the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you Vixen for getting this chapter started for me. <3 If anyone can spot the point where we switched authors here, you get fanfic cookies. I'd love your guesses.
> 
> Also sorry this chapter took so long to get out. We've both been in a writing funk. The next chapter is already outlined so it'll be faster. :3


End file.
